


What am I going to do with you?

by Beautiful_Stranger



Series: Lover's scorn [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive John, Alternate Universe - Mary Doesn't Exist, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Jim being the hero, M/M, No Mary, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:50:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2227965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_Stranger/pseuds/Beautiful_Stranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returned after his faked death to find John devastated and close to ending it all. Since then, they have come to terms with their feelings for one another and have begun a relationship, but it's anything but healthy. John becomes controlling, emotionally abusive, and just downright hurtful - using guilt trips, name calling, and gaslighting to keep Sherlock doubting himself, powerless to leave him again. One day, Sherlock runs into Jim Moriarty, still miraculously alive, and they begin to grow closer. Jim recognizes abuse when he sees it and wishes to put an end to Sherlock's suffering, but Sherlock struggles to remain unaffected by John's treatment of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't you love me?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Felicia here. I just wanted to write this as a thanks to my co-author and editor, Autor_Moriarty (Aka. Johanna). I couldn't have done it without her. (Well, I could have, but my first draft was really sucky compared to the final product). So, thank you Johanna. You didn't want to make an authors note, but, here you go. Deal with it. -Felicia.

Sherlock paced around the living room, deep in thought. He had a case on and although it was nothing too challenging - he had known who the killer was in less than five minutes - it was definitely interesting. A teenage girl found dead in her room in a supposed suicide. He was just considering the means that the killer had used to escape the locked room when the crashing noises finally registered in his train of thought and he stopped short, head swiveling to look at the kitchen where John was taking apart one of his experiments. He sighed and joined him in the kitchen, his expression unchanged, “What are you doing?”

“Don’t talk.” John hissed in reply, tossing a dark glare at Sherlock before returning to his task, “Just... don’t talk to me right now.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at how short and frankly dramatic John was being. He knew all too well that his protests were useless, John was just going to take them as him being rude and disrespectful, but he pushed on anyway, trying not to snap since it would only make things worse, “No. Tell me what you’re doing. Why are you going through my things, John?"

John barked a laugh and straightened up to glare at Sherlock properly, “One week, Sherlock. One week I’ve been saying that you should clean this kitchen,” He gestured at the equipment from the experiment, unwashed and growing mold, “And what have you done? Nothing. Does it actually get through your head that you're being incredibly inconsiderate? You’re not the only one that has to be here. When I say that you should do something, you shouldn't sit on your arse working on those damn cases that don't actually solve any of the problems in front of you, like this bloody kitchen!"

Without warning, John grabbed one of the beakers and made like he was going to throw it onto table with a dangerous snarl. Sherlock lunged forward to stop him, arms outstretched to catch it, but when he moved closer, John took a quick step back and stared at him in near horror, as if he thought Sherlock's intention had been to attack him. Sherlock caught himself and retreated, hands wringing together in an attempt to conceal his annoyance. He hated when John got like this. It happened so often lately. Normally he was able to brush it off, since he knew that there were emotions that John had to deal with since his return and he understood that, but there were other times where he simply couldn't ignore how John made him feel. All of those subdued emotions would manage to break free with a particularly hurtful word, making his stomach twist and eyes prick with tears. Right now, he was on the brink of losing control, unsure if he was actually scaring John.

"Don't you dare touch me.” John whispered, seeming genuinely terrified.

“No, John, talk to me, please. You can tell me what to do to make you happy but throwing a fit won’t prove your point and it just-” Sherlock started but cut off when he realized what he’d said. The words hung in the air and Sherlock held his breath, adrenaline spiking his heart rate.

“A fit? I’m throwing a fit?” John whispered, shaking his head as he looked at Sherlock, “You scared me, you came at me. I wanted to express a bit of frustration- Hell, I deserve to! I wasn’t going to hurt you, but you came at me, Sherlock. That was not a fit, I’m just tired of cleaning up your goddamn messes. You put me through so much work, I’m exhausted between picking up after you and my job, and you don’t see the sacrifices that I make.”

“I never asked you to clean up my messes.” Sherlock reminded John in a weary tone. He didn’t understand why John bothered with the responsibility of always cleaning up if he saw it as such a burden.

“Well obviously you need me to because you haven’t fucking done it. You’re like a child.” John snapped, going back to moving around the kitchen and picking up all of Sherlock’s test tubes and materials left out, starting to throw them into the trash.

Sherlock looked at him with an intense gaze before he moved towards the trash and began to get the test tubes out, setting them on the counter and muttering sarcastically, “That’s incredibly smart, John. Throwing good money away simply because you want to prove a point.”

John whirled on Sherlock, throwing the glass onto the ground and yelling to the point of his voice breaking, the glass sound of the glass shattering ringing through the flat, “Is that what this is about now? I’m not smart enough for you!? I’m never smart enough for you, Sherlock. No one in the world is smart enough for Sherlock Holmes!”

Sherlock didn’t respond, knowing that it was no use trying to fight with John. He would just sort through all of this later, going through the words said until he found a logical point in them and then throw them out with the rest of his unneeded memories. He left for the living room and sat on the couch, pulling his dressing gown tight around him as he glared at his lap. Very little got to Sherlock but one of the most unsettling things was when people yelled at him and didn’t give him a chance to explain himself. Lately, John had been doing it most and the increasing frequency was becoming unsettling.

Sherlock sat silently, struggling to enter his mind palace for some kind of escape only to be dragged out of it with every violent noise in the kitchen. It forced him to wonder about the fight. How could John get so emotional over a flat that he no longer even lived in? He didn’t tell John to move out after he left. After a few long minutes when Sherlock had just been thinking he would slip under this time, John spoke up and broke his concentration again, “You know, it would be nice if you would just do what I tell you to do the first time so that we don’t have to keep fighting like this.”

_Or maybe we would stop fighting if you stopped being overly passive aggressive every time I do something that you don’t like_  Sherlock thought to himself.

“You know, I cry every night because of you, Sherlock.” John continued, coming from the kitchen to the living room. This was the part where the fight would get dragged all over the flat. John sat on the coffee table in front of Sherlock, lifting the taller man’s chin and wiping the tears off of Sherlock’s cheek gingerly, eyes tender again, almost as if he was on the brink of crying himself right now. Sherlock hadn’t even realized that he was crying, but he hated it because now John was going to use it against him.

“How you feel right now is how I feel on a daily basis because of you.” John said in a matter of fact tone. Sherlock was used to hearing that by now, but every time he did he felt a small sting in his chest mostly because not many people saw him cry and the act that John just held it against him every time he did even though he had broke down his walls just made him build them back up. He instinctively brushed it off and focused on keeping himself disconnected from the conversation.

John looked at him and cupped his face in his hands, speaking with a cracked voice, “I would die for you, love. Do you remember? I was going to die to be with you.”

“Yes John.” Sherlock whispered, his voice small.

John nodded and looked at him, “So don’t say that I don’t love you. I love you more than anything in this world.” He pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips, pouring passion into it to force him to respond equally, and when Sherlock failed to reciprocate, John pulled back again.

“Don’t you love me?” John asked, glaring at him with an expression that was equally desperate and loving. His gaze burned into Sherlock’s and the taller man looked away, unable to deal with the emotion coming from him. Of course he loved John. He loved John more than anything, more than he cared to admit, but he just didn’t know how to show it and John knew that. He didn’t know why John was holding it against him. He didn’t know why John held anything against him anymore, but he did. Sherlock was too tired anymore to figure out why, emotionally drained all the time with the effort of trying to make a relationship like the one John wanted work. He sighed a little and tried to speak although it came out a slurred mumble.

“What’s that?” John asked in a slightly brighter tone, taunting, “Come on, Sherlock, that’s not becoming of you. Especially since you were so loud and rude before. You’re an obnoxious bastard most of the time, anyway.

The words made Sherlock tense. John continued with the name calling, each one making Sherlock scream inside of his head.  _No. John, stop it! Just shut up! Why won’t you just leave me alone?_   “You’re just so rude, Sherlock. An arsehole that no one should have the misfortune of meeting. You can’t even pick up on a hint to clean up a rotting mess on the counter.”

Sherlock pulled his head from John’s hands, shaking it like he might somehow shake out the negative ideas John was planting in his mind as he stood and strode quickly to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, needing to be alone. He heard an indignant, “Really?!” from the living room and he looked at the door, knowing he didn’t have much time left before John came in and taking the moment to brace himself. The next instant, the door to his bedroom was flung wide and John came in with blazing eyes, making him realize that he had only made the things worse.

“You can’t run from me, Sherlock. I know you. I’m the only one that will put up with you.” John hissed, "You're an embarrassment, it's why you've always been alone. No one else can stand you picking them apart the way you do because they can't handle your cruelty. There are times where I wonder why I bother. You make me feel so awful with the things you say... If you cared you'd show it."

Sherlock’s mind couldn’t take anymore and he began to say anything to appease John, fighting back the urge to let out any more tears. John’s voice slowly calmed with Sherlock's hurried, apologetic words and he stepped forward, caressing Sherlock’s face with his hands once again. He looked pleased. It always amazed Sherlock how he could just drop everything after a fight, how quickly his moods seemed to change. His words came out in a soft coo, exasperation masked in his tone. At times, he made Sherlock wonder if maybe he actually was the victim in all of this.

“Sherlock, you understand that no one would put up with you besides me, right? I don’t want you to leave only to find that no one else is as accommodating and accepting as I am. No one else would tolerate what you did in the kitchen.” He said, pressing their mouths together again and again before pulling back for an answer.

Shame washed over him as he looked down at John’s hand. This was usually the part of the fight where he shut off, getting lost in his mind to try and frantically sort through the onslaught of emotions. When this happened he would crave physical affection, but he usually tried to keep it under control until John initiated it for fear of rejection. He looked up at him with big blue eyes, his gaze growing submissive, before he nodded and worked up a smile.

“And you know that no one loves you like I do?” John asked, his voice coming out sweet and relaxed. Sherlock nodded again and looked up at John, the fear in his eyes dulling as his smile widened in relief. He was just praying that the storm had passed. John broke into a smile and nuzzled against Sherlock’s cheek, “Good.”

Sherlock wasn’t fully cooled down from the things John had said, but he loved how touchy feely John got after a fight and how it helped soothe away that pain left in his chest from John’s words. He slowly held up his arms, looking at John with childish hope

There came no hug.

John’s smile was still on his face and he stepped back, shaking his head, “Ah, sorry love, I’ve got to meet Greg for a drink. I’m sure you can handle yourself for a few hours?”

Sherlock sighed and his arms fell to his sides, mentally kicking himself for being so stupid in offering a hug. He was being too needy, of course that would put John off. Sherlock managed to pull up his smile again and watched as John left, wishing that he knew how to make the man happy. If he said one thing, he should have said the other. It was never right, but one day he was going to manage it. Not today, but one day.


	2. Look at you, Sherlock Holmes, back on top once more.

          Sherlock didn’t get much time to himself now that he was back. Cases were flying at him like crazy since everyone wanted their case solved by the ‘resurrected’ Sherlock Holmes and John took up the rest of his free time. He was grateful for times like these where he could just settle down and read a good novel. He was reading a Dr. Who novel. He often found himself enjoying things such as that even though it was science fiction. He noticed that the library wasn’t that full and, although it surprised him, the low hum of the natural noises was like music to his ears.

            Over time there were noises within the silence that began to peak his interest. A few well placed footsteps, a little hum of a tune he knew all too well. The familiar voice sent chills down his spine. He looked up from his book to see Jim standing there with that famous cheeky grin on his face. The deductions ran through his mind as Jim stood in front of him, although he couldn’t make out much. Grated fingernails- slight anxiety. Callous- hard work or writing a lot. He’s just up to his usual antics, probably writing letters to people. It’s not surprising that Jim had used his time away to work, after all.

            “Look at you, Sherlock Holmes, back on top once more.” He greeted. Sherlock stood up and looked at him with his usual calculating expression. Before he could respond, Jim spoke again in his usual sing-song tone that mocked almost everything around him. “Surprise.”

            For the first time in what seemed like forever, a genuine smile came across Sherlock’s face. He hadn’t smiled like this since John spoke to him on the rooftop. Even when he was about to kill himself, John showered him in compliments. He just wished that that behavior had continued. “Jim,” he began, looking upon him as he would an old friend. A bit dark if you consider the fact that one tried to kill the other. “How goes it?” he asked, the dark, smug look returning to his face.

            “Oh, Sherlock,” Jim said, a low tone in his voice as he took a step forward. “You know exactly how I’ve been.” He countered, knowing Sherlock had been deducing him. Sherlock nodded in response and looked at him. He then took his book that he had set on the shelf and walked over to the tables. It would be best if he wasn’t talking to someone else. Not at this time. John would get too mad if he knew he was talking to another guy- let alone Jim Moriarty. Of course, Jim followed Sherlock, sitting next to him in one of the chairs. “What are you reading, Sherly?” he hummed, admiring the annoyed look on Sherlock’s face. He knew he was far from annoyed.

            “It’s a novelization of a telly program.” He said, barely glancing from the single-spaced page. He got used to being brief about his interests and not talking much about what he liked. John was never really interested in what he liked. He thought he even heard the other groan when he began talking about one of his experiences, but that went unconfirmed.

            Jim smiled fondly. “Didn’t think you’d be into that sort of thing.” He commented, looking at the book. He spoke again, trying to tease him to the point where he would talk to him. “Nerd.” Sherlock huffed a little but still his eyes never left the page. Why should they? Because Jim decides now is the time to be annoying? No. He hardly had time to himself. He was going to enjoy this. When Jim got no response, he complained. “Oh, come on. Sherly. I’ve missed you.” Sherlock’s interest almost peaked so he could correct him on the nickname, but that’s what he wants. So he just gave no reaction, leaving Jim to stir in his own juices. “Talk to me,” Jim continued, determined to get Sherlock to talk to him. “I’m bored.”

            Sherlock’s eyes scanned the pages in a failed attempt to read. Jim just sat up straight and looked at Sherlock admiringly. “Oh, come on, Sherly-”

            Sherlock cut him off. “Stop calling me that.” He said, his voice stern.

            Jim held up his hands in fake, dramatic surrender as he chuckled. “Fine. Fine. But really, we both know you want to pay attention to me, so how about you just do it before daddy gets mad?” he said, his voice harmonic with a dominant undertone, something that only he could manage. He leaned forward to look at the detective as he waited for an answer. To let him know that he was paying attention, Sherlock dismissively put the book down and glanced up at him, his baby blue eyes mimicking the color of the ocean. Jim smiled at that and nodded, pouncing at the opportunity to get Sherlock’s attention. “Okay. First, How did _you_ fake it?” he asked, a smile on his face as he mimicked a teenage girl gossiping at a sleepover.

            Sherlock looked at him and instead of getting annoyed, his face showed a softened expression toward the man with a small, amused smile on his pale lips. “Well, you know my methods Jim. I am known to be indestructible.”

            Jim rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. “Yeah Yeah, Cut the crap. I want to know how, so tell me.” He said, getting impatient as he looked around the library.

            Sherlock looked at him and cleared his throat, looking down at his hands. The impatient tone reminded him of John for a small moment, making him back down. “Mycroft helped me.” He explained, knowing that was all he needed to know.

            Jim let a small smirk come to his face as he looked at him. “Brother, dear?” he asked, leaning forward. Sherlock shot him a look that let him know to shut up, but of course he didn’t. He just returned the look but in a mimicking manner. “Oh, you know I’m right.” He said, the smile returning to his face.

            Sherlock chuckled a little and looked at him. “Right. So have you just been picking up your little business as I’ve been tearing it down?” he asked, looking at him. Jim shook his head, the cold smile still on his face. Sherlock looked at him. Nope. The smile never reached his eyes. It was interesting.

            “Ah, yes. You’ve been quite the little brat. Trying to tear me down. Are you really so oblivious to the fact that I was just picking up your mess?” he asked, feeling smug as he looked at the curly hair that fell into the man’s face. “Bad boy.”

            Sherlock felt his insides pang with something that he couldn’t explain. It was almost like a rush for both adventure and something else. He just shook his head in response, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he got a reaction. “So what, is this your big comeback?” he asked, looking at him.

            Jim shrugged. “I don’t need a big, dramatic comeback. You already know I’m alive.”

            Sherlock pursed his lips and looked at him. “Right. Well, you’re here now. Do you want to celebrate?” he asked, the sarcasm thick in his voice.

            Jim chuckled. “You don’t seem enthusiastic.”

            Sherlock shrugged. “I expected you to jump out of a cake.” He said dismissively.

            Jim let out a sharp laugh and shook his head. “Like a stripper?” Sherlock shrugged and tried to dismiss him, going back to his book. “You’re not special, you know,” Jim said, his gaze burning into Sherlock’s skin almost like a laser. “Anyone here could tear down my network if they wanted. Even her.” He said, pointing to the librarian. He knew what he was doing. He was provoking Sherlock to deduce. It worked.

            “Nope. Not her.” Sherlock said, looking up at her once before looking back at his book. Still, though, he spoke, the deductions running out of his mouth. “She’s weak, has arthritis in her left hand. That’s why she only picks up her books with her right hand. It’s obvious. Plus, she’s in a happy relationship. She wouldn’t put herself in a risk.” He said, a small, proud smirk on his face. John never tolerated his deductions anymore. He wanted him to be normal- and deducing things were not normal. He sighed and cleared his throat.

            Jim noticed Sherlock’s zoning out and he raised an eyebrow. “You alright, Sherlock? I mean, hell, we’re arch nemeses and all that jazz, but I know zoning out when I see it.”

            Sherlock looked at him and shook his head. “I’m fine.” He said, looking around the room as he struggled to keep his calculating expression. “Really, Jim, don’t get soft on me.” He said, smirking as he dismissed his churning insides.

            Jim gave him a small look and just nodded, dismissing the concern that he felt settling in his stomach.

            Sherlock smiled and looked at him. There was something about someone actually feeling concern for him that gave him a warm feeling. He didn’t like warm feelings. They made him feel sentimental, and he was far from it. He just wiped the smile from his face and looked to the book.. His phone buzzed.

            You need to get home now. You’re out awfully late. JW

            He jumped a little and looked at it, his expression falling as he looked at the name. Sherlock looked at Jim and stood up, setting his book on the nearest shelf as he put his phone in his pocket. “I need to go.” He said. Jim would have made some sarcastic comment about Sherlock taking orders, but the look on Sherlock’s face was less than calm. He just nodded at him and let him go, waving nonchalantly.

            “I have your number, Sherly.” He said, smiling at him as he seemingly seethed at the nickname. Sherlock then walked out without another word.

            Later that night Sherlock sat in his flat, his hands folded in front of his chin as he lost himself in thought. He was in his mind palace. Things were different than before. It was still the same light-colored wood that made bookshelves among bookshelves, but the books weren’t on the shelves. They were scattered all along the floor and the table tops. Things had been scattered and cluttered ever since he and John got into the relationship. He never used to let John into his mind palace. He thought that showed sentiment and he wasn’t going to let his heart rule his head, but now John came in and out as he pleased, berating Sherlock whenever he disagreed. Even in his head, John hated him. He mimicked and mocked him. Just like always.

            He deserves to be happy. He deserves to have some sort of peace. If he didn’t walk in on John putting the gun to his head, he would have still had his peace. Why did John have to attempt suicide? Why did he have to leave? There were questions he never thought he would be able to answer, and maybe John wanted it that way.


	3. Just say yes

            “Sherlock, do you have to use that tone with me? You’re being kind of an arse.” John said, his arms crossed as he eyed Sherlock with judgment in his eyes.  “Seriously, you call her stupid, but Sally’s right. You are rude.”

            Sherlock just let a silent breath escape his nostrils as he looked away and went over to the crime scene. He had gotten good at that. Being as silent as possible, that is. Even when he was breathing, he wouldn’t make any sounds. It didn’t start at John, though. He had been doing that since he was an adolescent, mostly because ofMycroft. But even so, Sherlock thought he had escaped the mental grasp of his brother that made him do that, so he didn’t understand why he did it with John. He loved John. It was almost just as if he wanted to make himself feel as invisible as possible. He just wanted to detach, observe, and be unnoticed. Although with John that was never the case.

            “Hey Sherlock, can you tell us what you think?” Lestrade asked, hating to see the tension that goes on between John and him. Sherlock looked at the body and kind of fell silent for a moment. Another side effect of their relationship was that Sherlock’s mind was blocked. He couldn’t deduce as quickly and he always ended up getting made fun of. He began to stutter out for an answer, the smirk on John’s face just growing.

            “Out with it, Sherlock.” He said, his tone both harsh and teasing. Sherlock didn’t give him any reaction, though. He just shook his head and cleared his throat. “She wasn’t married.” He said finally, his voice smaller than it used to be almost as if he were unsure in his deductions. “H-Her ring. It isn’t worn or anything and it leaves no indent on her finger.. Also, there’s a mark on her skin right there-” He points. “And it suggests an outside interest if we’re looking at the angle. She was held down, but the bruise isn’t dark enough to suggest violence, but more of a... sexual preference.” He said. “In conclusion, the man is the killer because his is the only story that doesn’t add up.” He concluded, backing up to let them take in the crime scene.

            John genuinely smiled almost as if his entire mood had changed. “Good job, Sherlock.” He said, that admiring look in his eyes. Sherlock fell into that, not knowing any better due to the nature of their relationship.

            “Thank you.” He said, taking whatever compliment he could from John because he knew that with every one nice thing that came out of his mouth, five hurtful things were on their way. The ‘thank you’s were never actually genuine, but then again never were the compliments that John gave either. He thought that maybe he had just learned to do and say what everyone else wanted. It would be easier. Maybe then he wouldn’t actually be a freak.

            “Come on. Let’s go get some Chinese from around the corner, yeah?” John said, back to his normal self. Sherlock looked at him and nodded, about to leave when Lestrade peeked in from around the corner.

            “You guys wouldn’t mind helping one more thing, would you?” Sherlock shook his head at that and put his hands in his pockets as he walked over to Lestrade’s office. John eyed Sherlock as he walked in, making Sherlock a bit more nervous. “I need you to go over this case file.” He continued.

            “It’s the husband.” Sherlock said. “I was reading it while you were out on your break. It’s the husband. He set up the ladder and then pushed the wife off of it, putting the rock there to make it look like an accident.” He said.

            John nodded. “Well, we have to go.” He said, smiling. “We have a Chinese dinner to go eat.” And with that Sherlock was gone. He left the office with John. John looked back at him as they stood on the curb, waiting for a cab. “Have you ever thought of us moving in together again?” Sherlock could honestly say that no, he had not thought about it. But the idea intrigued him to say the least. He would be able to have John all to himself again. He just shook his head and stepped into the cab as it pulled up in front of them. Sherlock gave the driver the address and settled into the window seat. His train of thought was interrupted by John’s voice. “Well, you should.” John said humbly, smiling a little.  “I miss you, Sherlock. And I want to see you everyday again. I want it to be just like it used to be.”

            Sherlock looked down at the reference to their old life. “John, I-” He sighed, trying to think of something to say. “I don’t know. I don’t know what you want me to say.” He said.

            “Just say yes.” John said, sitting in the cab and resting against him. Sherlock sighed as John’s head nestled against his shoulder.

            “What if things aren’t like before?” he asked. It was a valid question.

            “They are like before. I know they are.” He said, looking at Sherlock as if that was the stupidest thing that he could have said. Soon enough, the cab pulled up to the Chinese restaurant. It was a nice, quiet place. Just a few hundred square meters. He held the door open for Sherlock and smiled as he stepped out of the cab. “Just think about it. Okay?” he said, not wanting Sherlock to argue him.

            “Fine.” Sherlock bluntly replied. He walked in and sat down at one of the tables while John went up to go get their food. He sat there and kind of just lost himself in thought. He thought about work and how John was treating him. And also about today when John was agreeing with Sally. What else did John agree with when it came to Sally? He was interrupted once again with John bringing over the food.

            “I got your favorite, love.” He murmured, smiling as he set the food down in front of Sherlock. It did look good. He sighed and just dug in, the food replacing the worries that were trying to fill his head.

            There wasn’t much discussion at dinner, and when they were done eating John just paid and they walked off. “Well, how was it?” John asked, walking closer to Sherlock than normal.

            Sherlock smiled at this and continued to stroll on. “It was nice. Thank you for dinner.” He said. John shook his head.

             “No, Sherlock, Thank you.” He said, kissing him. Sherlock was taken aback by the sudden affection, but he definitely welcomed it.

            They arrived at the flat and Sherlock fumbled for the keys that were in his pocket. “Do you want to come in?” Sherlock asked in both a nervous and relaxed tone.

            John answered him by pushing him against the wall and pressing their lips together. Sherlock welcomed it and wrapped his arms around John with an appreciation he couldn’t quite comprehend. They stumbled into the flat and it didn’t seem as though they could get upstairs to Sherlock’s room fast enough.

 

* * *

 

 

            Sherlock fell asleep that night alone in his bed. John needed to get home to wake up early the next morning for some presentation at work. He just drifted off on his own thinking of the past hour. It was nice. It really was. The sex wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but there was something about John that made him feel secure. His strength, probably. Just the knowledge that he was sleeping with someone that loved him as much as John did. It comforted him more than any orgasm ever would.  And with that thought he fell asleep, perfectly nestled in his silk sheets.


	4. Sex dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for not posting in a long time. My editor and I lost motivation and nothing got done, so I wrote the past three chapters myself. I apologize if they're not as good.

_“What are you so nervous about, Sherlock? Just do it before I do it for you.” Jim pleaded with a breathy tone, writhing underneath Sherlock. Sherlock looked down at him and let out a deep, quivering exhale before nodding and silencing Jim with a kiss as he pressed into him. This earned a small gasp from the man underneath and a sense of pride and belonging ran through Sherlock as he began to pump his hips._

        _“Oh, Sherlock…” Jim murmured as he sat on his lap. Sherlock looked up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips. Completely intimate. Completely personal. Everything he wished he had. He was just pumping his hips at a normal pace now, enjoying this moment that he had with him. “You are the best lover that a man can ask for, do you know that? Does Johnny show you that, hm?”_

* * *

         And all of a sudden everything zoomed out and faded. That’s all he could remember. Sherlock woke up with a hard shaft and a confused mind as he shuffled around in his sheets. Little flashbacks of his dream began to come back to him, hitting him like a boulder as he sat up and leaned against the headboard. He let out a sharp exhale as he processed everything that was going on. There wasn’t even much to think about. He just had a sex dream. About Moriarty, of all people.

        He got up, ignoring his member that was standing at full attention. He got used to walking around the flat naked because he lived alone. It was easier than flinging on some clothes. He got himself some tea to hopefully calm himself down. He thought back to his dream as another flashback brought itself into play.

        He tried to block out what Jim had said about John because, no, he doesn’t. John’s sex is nothing like that. Sherlock bends over for him and he does as he needs to, but it’s nothing like that. It’s nothing intimate like what he just dreamt about with Jim. He sighed and got up to attend to the screaming tea pot.

        He poured the water into a mug and got his favorite tea bag. It was an herbal relaxer, and he loved to just sip it while he did his daily doings. He didn’t have many things going on at the moment. No cases were in his immediate attention. So much has gone on since he came back. When he came back, that was bad. He thought back to it as he often did in silent moments like this.

        _It was raining on a Sunday afternoon. Sherlock had it all calculated in his head. He would come back. Explain what happened. Everything would go back to the way it was. After all, John couldn’t have been doing much with him gone. He opened the door to the flat and walked up the stairs. He made sure to come at a time that Mrs. Hudson was sure to be gone. He was about halfway up the stairs when he heard sobbing. John’s sobbing, if he were being exact. He went into the room, silent as he could be, and just stood there looking at him. He wasn’t able to see anything of what was actually happening. John was on his knees, back away from the door and arms in front of him, and he held a gun in his mouth that wasn’t visible to Sherlock from where he was standing. He only realized what was going on when he heard what John was sobbing about._

_“I’m going to be with you. We’ll be together again, I swear. Solving those cases up in heaven because up there they still believe in you. I still believe in you down here. I will always believe in you, Sherlock Holmes.”_

_When he heard that he knew exactly what was going on and he was frozen there. He knew he didn’t have much time, though, and he quickly snapped out of his shock, burying those feelings down with the rest of them. He moved forward and came in from behind, moving John’s arms away from his body._

_The shock made him pull the trigger, and John ended up shooting at the wall behind them. He sat there for a few moments, still sobbing onto this seemingly strange person that was holding him._

_Deductions ran through Sherlock’s head. Trembling. Sleep deprivation- probably hasn’t slept in days- nightmares. He’s thinner. Weight loss. Twenty pounds, to be exact. This all made him hold onto John tighter as he, himself, began to shake. He then spoke in a trembling voice, not wanting to scare John too much. “We don’t need to worry about the wall… It’s not as if it hasn’t taken a shot or two in its day.” He said._

_The familiar voice made John sob even harder as he looked up to see his old best friend, alive and well. “Sherlock!” he called out. There was no anger in his voice. It was more like a desperate plea. Sherlock simply nodded and kissed his forehead. “Yes.” He said, pulling him back into his embrace so that he would just calm down. He couldn’t stand seeing him like this. He had no idea how to handle this sort of thing, but he just held John. Surprisingly enough, he began to calm down after that. And everything was a spiral from then on._

        Sherlock sighed and let out a shaky breath at the flashback. He got out his phone to text John, wanting to see him after thinking back to that. He saw that he had a text. He didn’t recognize the number but he opened it and read it anyways.

        Meet me at the park tomorrow at 3 p.m. Don’t be late, Sherl. JM

       And Sherlock just replied: 

      Don't call me Sherl. SH


	5. You're slipping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not posting for a while. As you may have read in the comments, my laptop broke. As soon as I got it back, though, I began to get to work on this chapter. I believe it was worth it.

Jim Moriarty sat on the wooden strips of the park bench as he looked around. He was dressed in a black suit with red detailing and a grey tie that all fit to his frame perfectly. Just because he didn’t care for getting money or fame or any of that didn’t mean that he was going to allow himself to dress in a cheap manner. He looked around the park, searching for the familiar patch of curly raven hair before looking to his watch. It was only 2:58. Sherlock would be around. He settled himself and began to look around at all of the people, able to tell their life stories with a single glance.

A woman, 1.5 Meters tall, and a child, barely up to her hip. He had mental issues, but the mother refused to acknowledge it. Alcoholic. Widowed. Obviously. So typical. So _ordinary_. Speaking of, a familiar voice came from next to him.

“Look at the hand,” Sherlock said, taking a seat next to the consulting criminal. “It’s discolored.” He looked at Jim and then began to look around as well.

Jim nodded but at this point he wasn’t interested in the people. He was more interested in finding out what’s been going on with Sherlock. The man had left so suddenly the last time that they were together. He wanted to know what was going on.

He had looked into Sherlock’s recent life events, obviously, but the only dirt that he could find was that he and Johnny boy were now an open couple. He didn’t understand his interest in someone so ordinary. Still, he kept to himself because in the end it really was none of his business. Not unless Johnny over stepped his boundaries, which could very likely be an option considering the way Sherlock reacted from a simple text, most likely from him, last time they were together.

“How’s the pet?” he asked nonchalantly, putting his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t jealous, although to a normal person it may seem that way. He didn’t get jealous because if he wanted something he always just found a way to get it. No. This was something else entirely. It was like an inquiry, as if to prod Sherlock and get him to open up. If he had his anger to fuel his thoughts- going off of the assumption that his suspicions were correct- he would be unstoppable. Still, of course Sherlock wasn’t going to open up. He doesn’t think that was how it worked.

“He’s fine,” Sherlock said, his gaze out towards the people. While he was trying to pay attention to the conversation Jim was provoking, he was also trying to deduce everyone around him, just to try and prove to himself that he could. He had been slipping as of late, that he knew, and he didn’t understand it. He needed to change it. Get better. He gave up and just looked at Jim with his usual, detached expression. “Why do you want to know?”

Jim shrugged, noticing Sherlock’s slight pause and desperate look in his eyes as he looked at people. “Just curious is all.” He hummed, a grin on his face. “Tell me about that girl over there.” He said, wanting to see just how deteriorated his puppet was.

Sherlock was suspicious as to why Jim wanted him to randomly deduce, but he figured he would pass the time and he looked at the woman sitting by herself. Jim already had her figured out. She was obviously on the more promiscuous side with multiple partners and she had abandonment issues due to an absent parental figure in her life. She was struggling with her rent and currently staying with a distant relative such as a cousin or an uncle.

Sherlock stared at her and slowly the gears in his mind began to turn. Soon enough, he began to spew out his deductions. He missed a few of the things that Jim noticed, but that wasn’t new. Sherlock was just a little bit behind Jim in this. Jim nodded and looked forward, his hands resting in his pockets. “You’re slipping.” Jim commented. “You used to be a lot faster at that.”

Sherlock looked at him and shook his head, denying any regression even though its proof was inevitable. His stubbornness would be his downfall, Jim thought. “I’m not slipping. I’m just… distracted.” Sherlock said, looking away.

“From deduction?” Jim asked skeptically, even though his face still showed no reflection of his inward worry-wart demeanor.

“Yes, James. From deduction.” Sherlock said, his tone slightly short.

“No need to be snappy, Holmes.” Jim said, a low and warning tone in his voice. His tone then changed to a calmer, more curious gait. “What’s been going on with you, anyhow? You’re slow, predictable, and you’re getting ordinary.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I’m not ordinary. If I were, you wouldn’t be here.” He pointed out. Jim nodded, but still made a mental note of Sherlock’s behavior. The detective had never before felt the need to defend his actions so much or defend his need to be around someone. That was worrisome. Perhaps his pet wasn’t treating him as well as he thought.

“How are things really with you and John?” he asked, looking over at him. He tried to deduce it from Sherlock, but Sherlock, being a master deducer as well, knew how to cover things up well, damn him.

“I told you, they’re fine. He’s being kind of a prick, but that’s not new.” He said, looking at Jim as if to gauge his reaction to see whether or not it was a good idea that he had shared information with him.

Sherlock was portraying a lot of the behaviors of someone being abused, and that made Jim angered. He couldn’t have a pet detective to play with if he was too busy apologizing for his actions or peeking out of his head hole to see if things were safe. No. “What do you mean by that, Sherlock?” He asked, a calm tone in his voice contrary to the storm brewing in his mind.

“He’s been agreeing with Sally. Calling me rude and inhumane. You know, just that sort of stuff. Nothing big.” Sherlock said, trying to both defend John and make it seem as though John’s actions weren’t worth getting angry over.

Jim knew that the army man was capable of such behaviors. Sherlock may be blind to it, but Jim could see it. He was a man that killed without thought and missed the war. While he was cute when he was flustered, when he was in his zone he was almost unstoppable. It could actually be frightening to a select few. This was a whole new realm though. This wasn’t physical abuse, as Jim had suspected. This was worse for Sherlock. It was worse because Sherlock could take a beating, but he knew that Sherlock could not handle being out of his depth mentally. And that John making him do so would mess him up more than any old bruise or scrape. He let out a deep breath and looked at Sherlock with a dead look in his eyes as he smiled. He would do it. He would kill John Watson. Get rid of any distraction in Sherlock’s life. He didn’t care how much Sherlock loved the pet, this was unacceptable. Sherlock’s low, silky tone interrupted Jim’s train of thought.

“I’d rather you not.” He said, looking at Jim with the same empty expression. “I’m a big boy,” He said sarcastically as if to patronize Jim’s concern and make him stop it. “I can handle myself.”

Jim was surprised at how quick Sherlock was to figure out what he was thinking and put a stop to it. Still, he complied. He needed to take care of Sherlock first. Get Sherlock on his own before he would take care of John. But before all of this was over, John Watson would be six feet under, that he knew.

Sherlock began to think about John and his treatment of him. This wasn’t adding up. If sally equals bad, when John agrees with sally wouldn’t that make John bad? If A=B and B=C then A=C So why wasn’t that the case here. Why wasn’t this coming to a good solution? Why couldn’t he see John as a bad person? He loved John. This was so stupid. It wasn’t even worth thinking of. He wiped those thoughts away and looked off at the people, also ignoring the man next to him. Jim smiled sadly at Sherlock before returning to his normal predatory expression and patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Sherly.” He said. This time, there were no verbal objections to the nickname as Jim made his way up and out of the park leaving Sherlock there by himself to sit and think about everything.


	6. He's been attempting to contact me as of late.

“Hey, you,” John prodded, beaming as he handed Sherlock another box. “I’m kicking your arse at unpacking these boxes,”

Sherlock nodded and took the box, putting it to the side as he continued to work on the one in front of him. “It’s not a fault of mine that you’ve stopped living out of a suitcase,” He joked. “We’re almost done. We’ve got about two left,”

John nodded and got one of them, getting to work. He knew his things. He knew where they went. Sherlock, on the other hand, was just sitting there looking at John’s jumpers with a slightly nostalgic gleam.

“Are you alright?” John asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow as he relaxed back against the chair and put the box off of his lap.

“Of course,” Sherlock immediately replied, blinking harshly before setting the jumper he was holding aside. He got back to work on the box, putting the jumpers in a bag.

John shook his head. “No, you’re not, but okay,” He said, not pushing the issue. He knew that Sherlock wouldn’t go to anyone when he was upset. He had been with the man long enough- platonic or not- to know just a thing or two.

Sherlock dismissed it. Today was a good day, he wasn’t about to ruin it with feelings. Those always seemed to ruin things when it came to John. Nonetheless, he pushed those thoughts out and just focused on the man in front of him.

“I’m glad you’re back here.” Sherlock said, trying to change the subject after sitting there for a moment or two more in silence.

That surprised John, but still it most definitely was not unwelcome. He looked at Sherlock with a genuine smile and nodded, moving and sitting over next to the man. “I’m glad that you let me come back here,” He said, brushing a few curls out of Sherlock’s face. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek and then stood up, dismissing the last box. “I think this one can wait. We have some other things to do.” His tone mimicked that of a sultry purr as his body language changed as well. Sherlock noticed, and he retaliated by moving so that he stood in front of John.

John was about to pull Sherlock towards him by the shirt, but a chiming from Sherlock’s phone stopped everything. John shook his head, his tone still polite. “Sherlock, love? Who’s that?” He asked, his eyes peering at Sherlock’s pocket. He began to wonder who would have the audacity to text while they were together. This was their time, no one else’s.

Sherlock pulled out his phone and looked, sighing when he saw the familiar number pop up on the screen. John looked at him, his gaze tightening on Sherlock’s face as he did so. “Well?” He asked.

Sherlock didn’t want to bother with it. He just put the phone away and flicked on the silent mode while it was in his pocket. “Never mind it, John.” He said, looking at the other with a weary-eyed expression.

John laughed a little, his tone tense and thick. “You’ll tell me who that was, Sherlock. I don’t need you keeping secrets on top of everything else you’ve done.” He spoke through his teeth and his tone was both light and sharp at the same time, passive aggression laced through each and every word.

Sherlock looked up at John, his face dropping at the sight. There was no longer a warm, light feeling to the room. Just like that, the demeanor of everything turned tense and cold, and he even felt a slight churn in his stomach. “It’s Jim. He’s been attempting to contact me as of late.” Well, it wasn’t a lie.

John couldn’t believe it. Jim. Jim bloody Moriarty. No. No no no. Surely Sherlock couldn’t be this stupid. His lips twisted into that slight smile that he only gave when he was truly angry and he looked at Sherlock with a brutal, erratic gaze. “Are you fucking kidding me, Sherlock?” He asked, his tone raising.

Sherlock tensed up completely at the sound of John’s raised voice. Great. This again. He shook his head, keeping his ground with John even though to that man there was hardly such thing. “No. I’m not.”

John looked at Sherlock, his eyes almost bugging out of his head. “Don’t you do that, Sherlock.” He spat, pointing at him as his face grew redder. “Don’t you sit there and act completely clueless as though I’m the one that’s over reacting here. You’re talking to Jim. Jim. The person that almost took you away from me! He did! Jim bloody Moriarty almost made me put a bullet to my head to see you again. And you decide it’s best to just go out for tea with the bloke? Sherlock!”

At this point, John was yelling. He knew he was. He knew that Sherlock would just close himself off and refuse to participate in it. He saw it even now. Sherlock was slowly backing up and turning paler. John sighed and shook his head, contemplating between pulling Sherlock close and leaving for a breather. He decided he needed a break and he just abruptly left the room, slamming the door on the way out.

Sherlock’s breaths were shallow and frequent. It was his way of attempting to calm him down. Before he could intervene, John was walking out of the door. He had done the wrong thing again, hm? He just slumped on the couch, the rest of the living room being taken over by other items. He pulled out his phone to see what Jim had said.

* * *

 

_How’s the pet? JMx_

Sherlock chuckled dully to himself, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. John probably wasn’t going to be back tonight, and he didn’t care to go to bed, so he just texted Jim back.

 

_He’s fine. He moved in today. SH_

_Oh? Should I send flowers? JMx_

_No thank you. SH_

_Oh, you’re no fun. So, tell me. Why did you ask him to come back? JMx_

_I didn’t, exactly. However, he insisted and I didn’t really have any objection. SH_

_Oh, how romantic. JMx_

_Piss off. SH_

_I’m hurt, Sherly. JMx_

_What else do you want, Jim? SH_

_Oh, nothing. I’ll be in touch. JMx_

_Bye, Sherlock. JMx_

_Goodbye, Jim. SH_

* * *

 

Jim stared down at his phone as he twirled his cigar between his fingertips. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. Sherly was getting involved with this pet, and it was doing a toll both on his intellectual abilities and on his personality. He wasn’t even unlikeable anymore. He was just so passive. John needed to go. Yes, definitely needed to go. He contemplated it as he stared into the fireplace and lit the cigar between his lips, blowing the smoke into the fire that burned in front of him.


	7. It's just because you don't know what happened.

That next morning, Sherlock woke up to the sound of a familiar emptiness throughout the flat. He hated to admit just how much he actually liked the feeling of being alone again. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be alone, just away from the unpredictability of John’s company, and he didn’t ever think that he of all people would beg for predictability.

He got up and made his way to the kitchen, putting some water in the kettle. He was trying to make it a habit to at least sometimes make his own tea, only because he knew that eventually going up and down those stairs was going to prove to be a bad idea for his elderly friend. He got the box of tea bags down from the cabinet and just sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t even changed out of his clothes last night before falling out of sleep. He didn’t feel like being in anything much today.

Approximately two minutes before the kettle would start whistling. That was enough time. He went to his room and shrugged off his trousers and button up, instead opting for some loungewear and a t-shirt. It was good enough. He walked back out, frowning at the rustling that could be heard from the kitchen. He walked into the kitchen to see John standing there in front of the stove, a tense demeanor about him contradicting his seemingly gentle smile.

“Sherlock,” John greeted, looking up at his lover. Yeah, he went out on a walk that previous night. While he was out, he thought about everything and decided that no, it wasn’t his fault for being angry. After all, Sherlock was bloody talking to the very person that made him leave in the first place. What, did Sherlock just want to leave again? Did Sherlock want to put him through that hell all so that he could play his little game with a criminal that he seemed to love oh so much? He wasn’t going to allow it, and while he was out he decided he was going to do everything in his power to make sure that Sherlock didn’t die again, didn’t leave again just like he did last time.

Sherlock looked at him warily, but eventually he just decided his paranoia about John being on a potential freak out was just that. Paranoia. After all, John usually did feel better after a walk. He nodded his head and let a soft smile come to his lips. “Hello, John,” He greeted, relaxing noticeably.

John saw Sherlock’s relaxation as an opportunity, though, and he quickly jumped on it in order to make a point of how Sherlock made him feel last night. “You make enough for both of us?” He asked, nodding his head to the tea pot. Sherlock frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. His disposition slowly began to close in on itself, and he looked at John almost as though his eyes were begging the man to not do that even though he wasn’t verbally saying anything.

John didn’t care. He was making a point. After all, why should he care? Sherlock didn’t care when he was leaving him behind in the dirt to go play games for two years. He just continued on, completely cold to Sherlock’s seeming vulnerability. “Or maybe this isn’t even for me. After all, you couldn’t have even known I was going to be home.” Sherlock’s frown grew and he shifted from toe to toe. “Maybe you made this,” John began, pausing a little so he could let out an airy chuckle. “Maybe you made this for your little criminal friend. You did, didn’t you, Sherlock?” He antagonized, turning to look at Sherlock just so that he could take in what this was doing to him.

Sherlock didn’t care for this at all. The petty fighting and accusations, it was useless and immature. Still, he found himself getting oddly affected by it. He wanted to defend himself. Get angry at John for being like this. He just settled for simple, effective sentences. “Stop this, John.”

John laughed, shaking his head and taking the kettle off of the stove. “Stop this?” He asked senselessly as a laugh left his lips. He slammed the kettle onto the other burner so that they wouldn’t have the whistling interrupt their conversation. Sherlock visibly flinched at the slamming sound, staring at John with an intense gaze almost as though he were anticipating his next move. John wasn’t fazed by it. The stare didn’t even penetrate his skin. “Why would I stop this, Sherlock? After all, isn’t that what I wanted you to do last night?”

At this point, John was getting angrier. He moved to face Sherlock and took a step towards him, not even bothering to tone down his voice that was on the brink of yelling with a tense, erratic tone. “You know, last night when your master criminal side piece decided to interrupt our time together. When I was trying to give you affection and instead what I got was a slap in the goddamned face, Sherlock, just like always. Just like always from you.”

Sherlock stepped back as John began to walk towards him, and he just wanted this fighting to stop. He looked at the man in front of him with a submissive gaze, the expression seeming to be especially foreign on a Holmes face. “John,” He breathed out, doing his best to keep his stoicism.

That was enough for now. John needed to make sure that Sherlock stayed with him, after all, and didn’t run off to leave him again. John’s face softened and he gave a soft smile. Sherlock squinted and his cynicism filled up the emptiness that was beginning to fill him as a result of detaching from the situation. Still, this was nicer than that little blip a few moments ago, and he figured that he should just go with it. After all, that’s how it had always been. He just did what he wanted and John would pick up behind him, so it wouldn’t make sense for John to lead him astray. He nodded and gave a smile back, letting go of his animosity.

John reached up to cup Sherlock’s cheek and just sort of stared at him for a moment before pulling back. Sherlock enjoyed the silence of the moment.

“John, allow me to propose something,” He said. “Have you ever thought of the possibility of there being some sort of emotional abuse happening on your end?” He thought back to what Jim said at the park, his mind beginning to put two and two together.

That made John actually begin to laugh. It started off with that simple laugh and quieted out into a poisonous gaze directed at the other man. “Look at what he’s done to you, Sherlock,” He said quietly, letting his facial expression do most of the talking. “He’s trying to get in between what we have here, and he’s turning you into some sort of puppet,”

Sherlock shook his head, looking at John with a sort of exasperated expression. “I looked it up, John, and you fit a lot of the criteria. Guilt trips, chastising, dismissal, humiliation.. Even now, you’re denying that anything is your fault. It-”

“That’s because nothing is my fault, Sherlock. You’re spouting off some bullshit that a master of manipulation has told you. He’s trying to tear us apart and you’re bloody letting him.” John said, balking at the idea.

“You’re using Jim as some sort of scapegoat, and it’s pathetic.” Sherlock spat out, looking at John with a harsh gaze. Wrong move.

“I’m not using the scapegoat here. Jesus, for someone who’s always prattling on about logic, you don’t seem to have any. I’m giving an explanation. You’re scapegoating with this emotional abuse bullshit. I bet you Jim told you everything, didn’t he? You didn’t research anything.” John crossed his arms and looked at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock shook his head, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “No, John. I actually did.”

John chuckled. “Did you? Because, to me it sounds like you’re just a puppet with Jim’s hand up your arse. I bet he scripted all of this, didn’t he? You can tell me Sherlock. We can work on your problem.”

Sherlock paused in that moment and just had to take the time to think. Never before had John actually denied an event that he said happened. He was sure that it happened. He was absolutely sure of it. Then again, why was he doubting himself. He looked at John, a slightly betrayed expression on his face. “No. It did happen, John.” He said.

John stepped forward and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek, taking advantage of the falter in his anger. “It’s alright, love,” He murmured softly. “It’s alright that you doubt yourself. After all, it’s just because you don’t know what happened. That’s alright. I’m the outsider looking in, and I can see things perfectly.”

Sherlock needed fresh air. He needed the room to stop spinning. He just shook his head and walked off without another word, leaving the flat without so much as a confused murmur in his place. He didn’t know where he was going. He sort of just began to walk until the ground became steady again.

After a while, he stared down at his phone as he thought of the one other person he could go to at the moment. He dialed Jim’s number and waited for him to pick up.

* * *

 

Jim really wasn’t expecting a call from Sherlock in god-knows-what time in the morning. He sat up in his bed and ran a hand through his hair before answering the phone and giving a small little hum. “Well, well, well. Sherly Holmes. Is there a reason you’re calling?” He rang out in his usual sing-song tone.

Sherlock wasn’t expecting to clam up like this, but when he heard Jim’s voice, he couldn’t say anything. He just cleared his throat and slowly began. “I… I don’t know.” He said, his voice obviously spacey and slightly disoriented.

Jim’s playful demeanor immediately fell, and he leaned forward onto his knees. Oh, this wasn’t good at all, was it? No. He knew Sherlock, and he could obviously hear something in his voice. “My men are on their way,” He said knowingly, the slightest feeling in the pit of his stomach that his hatred of the pet Sherlock clung to was only going to grow more after this.


	8. I may not be your father, but you’re acting like a blasted child right now.

_Wanker!_

That was the one word that kept repeating itself in Jim’s mind as Sherlock spoke about what had happened within the previous hours to make him need to go over. Still, his face showed none of it. The last thing Sherlock needed was someone else fussing over him- at least, not to his face. He needed someone to do something about it, because he obviously wasn’t going to.

Sherlock could see the tension in Jim’s expression, though. The clenched jaw, the slight squint, it was obvious that he was biting his tongue. “Save it,” He said in a weary expression. “I know what you’re going to say.”

Jim shook his head and just leaned back into the lounge chair that he was relaxing in. “You know what I’m going to say- and you know that I’m right, Sherlock. Why aren’t you doing anything?” He asked. He kept his voice calm and steady, knowing that Sherlock didn’t need anyone to loom over him and be condescending, but rather evoke thought and try to get him to come to the conclusion himself.

Sherlock just looked down at his hands, starting to pick at the hanging skin off of his thumb nail. He looked up at Jim and shook his head. “I don’t know, alright. How many times do I have to say that?” He was snapping a little, yes, because he hated having to admit that he didn’t know. He was Sherlock Holmes. He was always supposed to know.

Jim leaned forward so that his elbows were resting on his knees and looked at Sherlock with a calm, collected expression though his posture remained open. “Sherlock. Look at me.” He waited until Sherlock did just that before he continued to speak. “Now, you called me for a reason. I think, subconsciously, you know that this relationship is bad for you. I think you called because you were looking for some kind of first step towards a solution. Feel free to tell me that I’m wrong, but you don’t seem very happy.”

Sherlock pondered it for a second, letting a shallow exhale make its way past his parted lips. He was right. He wasn’t happy. He knew what a gleeful feeling felt like, it was like when he got a level 10 case, and this wasn’t that. Even in the beginning, the relationship always felt… rushed- addictive, even, but never genuinely happy.

He began to think of John saying that Jim was putting this all in his head. He knew that it was a load of crap, but at the same time he couldn’t help the self doubt that came with that sort of introspection. How much of this was he simply blaming on John when in actuality it didn’t happen?

Jim figured that was enough pushing for now. He could see Sherlock begin to close in on himself and, while he did want to pull out all the bloody information he could, he remained civilized for now. “When are you expected back?” He asked, looking down at his watch. 14:00. They had time, correct?

Sherlock didn’t really reply. He simply shrugged and looked down at his hands, using a piece of hang nail as a focal point so that he wouldn’t completely lose focus over where he was.

Jim watched the hangnail as well, but it was mostly out of curiosity for what Sherlock was going to do next instead of desperation like the other man. After a while, he gave a simple reply. “That’s not an answer, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked up at him, shaking his head as a small, breathy chuckle immersed from his lips. “You’re right.” He said, stating the obvious without actually proposing that he do anything about it.

Jim rolled his eyes at that and just leaned back into his chair, perpendicular to the one that Sherlock was sitting in. This was going to be a long evening, and he sent out a message to his men before looking at Sherlock and waiting for him to  continue on.

 

* * *

 

 

After denying Jim’s insistence of him spending the night in his flat, Sherlock left the little hub to go back to 221b with a fresh, thought out mind. He’d spent the majority of the evening in silence, simply sorting things out in his palace and going over all the details as if something would change.

When he got to the flat, he was slightly relieved to see it empty. That wasn’t good, though. He should be glad to see John. He sighed and went to the bedroom, changing into some loungewear before heading to the living room. A case. That should clear his head.

He picked up a file and looked it over, pursing his lips as he observed the details. Soon enough, though, John came through the door with a hum.

Sherlock straightened his back and looked at him, setting the file down without so much as a second thought to what was in it. John looked pleased with that as he walked over and looked down at Sherlock.

“Where’ve you been?” He asked, sitting down next to him.

Sherlock didn’t know how to answer. Did he say that he was at Jim’s or just make up something else? Before he could answer, the falter in his expression answered for him.

“Jim. Right,” John chuckled a little. “Of course you were with him. Tell me, did he fuck you real good? Hm?” He looked at Sherlock with a fearless expression. Sherlock’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “What? John, no.” He stammered out, the anger from the previous night returning. Still, he just got over a fight. Best not cause another one, if he could stop it. John saw this, and he just shook his head. “You’re not seeing him again.”

Sherlock scoffed, standing up off of the couch. “You can’t control that. You’re not my father, so stop acting like it.”

John shook his head. “I’m not trying to be your bloody father, Sherlock, I’m just trying to stop you from hanging out with a bloody psychopath!” He stood up, looking at Sherlock. “Sherlock? Look at me. Now.”

Sherlock looked up at him, a snarl in his expression. John continued. “I’m not trying to control you. Still, let’s face it, you need me to do most stuff for you anyways. When we first met, I needed to make sure you bloody ate more than once a few days. I may not be your father, but you’re acting like a blasted child right now.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say. He just needed to keep the conversation on one topic. “You can’t stop me from seeing Jim.” He said.

John nodded. “You know what? You’re right. I can’t. I can, however, leave anytime I want to. And if I’m not sure that you even want me here, then what’s the point of me being here? Might as well go.”

Sherlock hadn’t expected that. He looked at John for a long moment before nodding and looking down. “Fine… I won’t.” His eyes shifted between John and the floor before fixating on John as he began to walk over.

John had a smile on his face, and he reached out to cup Sherlock’s cheeks before pressing a kiss to his lips. “Good. Now it can just be you and I. I forgive you.”

Sherlock didn’t even know what he needed to be forgiven for.


	9. There are more important things to do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay! I had some trouble motivating myself to write this, but it's up. I'll be starting chapter ten soon. This might end up being one chapter less than stated, since I was able to actually get through some things in one chapter. I'm not sure. Anyways, thank you all for being so awesome! -Felicia.

John was out. It was just another day in the flat now that Sherlock, being watched like a hawk, wasn’t allowed to even mutter Jim’s name. It had been months since that night he walked out. He hadn’t done much of anything, really. He hadn’t taken any cases, done any experiments, or done anything else besides closed himself off in his room and tried to get lost in his head.

Of course, Jim was watching everything. He looked at the cameras, listened to the audio as if he were waiting for some kind of clue that Sherlock was on top of his game. That he was aware he was being watched and was leaving some kind of clue. There was nothing. There wasn’t any Morse code or foreign language, or anything else that would make Jim giddy like he used to get at the challenge that was Sherlock Holmes. He’d been reduced to a puddle of nothing by that bloody pet.

And where was that nosy brother of his? Normally Mycroft wouldn’t go a week without sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, but apparently now it was all fine. Jim rolled his eyes at the thought and ordered his men to get him a new, throwaway phone. He was going to try to get to Sherlock one way or another. He sent a message to Mycroft with a brand new phone number, completely unused before, and as soon as it was sent he destroyed the phone and let his anger out in one movement by throwing the phone against the wall with a froth at the mouth.

_Go check on your brother. XX_

* * *

Sherlock sat there on his bed with his fingertips at their permanent position on his chin as his eyes stared off into his room. He heard a door open and looked up, expecting to do the usual check-in and kiss that John did to make sure that he wasn’t upset or thinking about the troubling things that he was before. John wasn’t there, though. Instead, there stood Mycroft looking down at him with his usual concerned, condescending glance.

Mycroft leaned down and squinted at Sherlock a bit, not saying anything. “What are you doing?” He finally asked as though Sherlock were simply doing something strange.

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft and immediately he felt his defenses go up. There was something knowing in his gaze that was both knowledgeable of the situation and dismissive. Just like always. “Staring at a pig in my room,” He retorted, though there was none of the usual bite in his voice.

Mycroft chuckled and shook his head, nodding towards the door. “Get up and stop sulking.” He said.

Sherlock shook his head. “Mycroft, I-…” He couldn’t say it. He was about to tell Mycroft, but the words remained halted at his lips, waiting to be released. Instead, he just clenched his fist and looked down.

“You what?” Mycroft asked as though he were annoyed with Sherlock’s dramatic presentation.

Sherlock looked up at the other. “I think John is emotionally abusive.” He finally said, avoiding Mycroft’s gaze as he did so.

Mycroft pondered it for a moment, thinking everything over. He then raised an eyebrow and just shook his head. “Don’t cry wolf about such things, brother mine.” He began. Sherlock felt his chest tighten, and he just bit the inside of his cheek just like he used to do. “I’m n-”

“Yes, you are,” Mycroft interrupted him. “There’s a difference between you not getting your way and you being abused. Stop your sulking and come out to solve this case, there are more important things to do- more important people that need you.” Mycroft’s gaze was hard as he stared at, nay into Sherlock.

Sherlock didn’t say a word. He just stood up and followed Mycroft into the living room.

“Ah, I see you got him to come out.” John joked, giving a smile their direction. Sherlock looked at John with a blank expression before turning away. This caused John’s stomach to twist slightly- what was Mycroft saying to his Sherlock to make him so distant like that?- and he walked over. “Now, if you could get him to eat something, I’d kiss the ground you walked on.” He put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and rubbed comfortingly, causing him to actually relax slightly. He didn’t know why he found comfort in that.

 

_“Oh, you just have to see my boys!” Wanda exclaimed. She took her guests past the main room of the manor into the hall that led to the study where Mycroft demanded to reside for these gatherings._

_Sherlock wanted to be with Mycroft for this one, and since he was good the rest of the day, he was allowed, much to Mycroft’s demise. Mycroft sat there on the chair with his nose in a book as he kept Sherlock pre-occupied in some other biology textbook._

_“My? Will you read to me?” A six-year old Sherlock asked._

_The 13 year old was not fond of a bright-eyed child around to get excited and ask questions. Still, he loved having someone around to teach, to be a mentor to. So long as Sherlock knew that he was indeed the mentor. He looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow. “Why would you want me to read to you? You can obviously read on your own, that’s quite a dumb thing to want.”_

_Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed and he just looked at Mycroft. “I just thought I would ask because I like how you do it.” He said, not quite sure how to explain it. “I just wanted to do it with you,”_

_Mycroft looked down at his book. “We are reading together. Now wipe that pout off of your lip before mummy sees. You know how she feels about you sniveling in front of company,” He said._

_Sherlock did, too. He gulped and put his book in front of his face so that as the footsteps ascended the hallway and Mummy opened the door, they couldn’t see him._

_“Look at them. Heads in the books.” Wanda bragged. “You know, my boys are geniuses. They’re probably going to grow up to be famous one day,” She grinned, winking at the both of them as a silent thank you for being so good and walking out of the room with the silent shut of the door._

 

Mycroft looked over the two of them. While it looked like some strain was going on, it couldn’t be anything really emotional. He looked Sherlock over one more time before shaking his head. “Stay out of trouble, Sherlock,” He warned before walking out of the flat.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and grinned, happy to still have the man all to himself for now.


	10. This is what he was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to all of the people that have put up with my long wait times!

“We’ve been in a relationship long enough, Sher, are you ever going to learn how to act like a decent human being?” John asked condescendingly, looking at Sherlock with an intense gaze. “I keep trying to help you. It’s not working.” Sherlock’s eyes at this point were empty. He didn’t remember when he stopped reacting to being chided or shouted at. He didn’t remember when he stopped being able to twist everyone around his fingers- when he began to be the one that was getting twisted. He just let out a sigh and looked at John.

“Then stop trying to fix me. No one’s making you.” His voice was flat. Now, when he was shouted at, he just checked John’s logic back at him, deflecting any sort of attempts at manipulation. He could see them now. He hated how obvious they were.

John laughed and shook his head. “Bullshit, Sherlock. You need me. You know you do. You don’t even bloody eat without me around. Do you?” He sounded so patronizing as though he was building himself up while tearing Sherlock down- and he got enough of that growing up with his brother.

Sherlock just shrugged and kept quiet, not giving John any sort of reaction to feed off of. He didn’t even know why John was mad. Then again, when did he ever?

John let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Why do you do that, hm? I’m not shouting for my health, Sherlock-” This prompted a nose exhale and a small, empty smile from Sherlock. “I’m trying to talk to you, and you never bloody listen.”

Sherlock looked at John and shook his head. “I’m listening perfectly fine.” He said. “I’m just not getting upset like I usually do when you get like this. Perhaps try talking like a normal person.”

“You’re so bloody dense, I swear.” John seethed. “Do you even know why I’m angry, or are you really that much of a machine?”

Sherlock looked at John, keeping his face from falling at that comment. “It’s not an issue of me lacking emotion, but rather you having too much of it.” He said.

John shook his head. “Of course. It’s always my fault, isn’t it? I care about you so much, Sherlock. So much. And this is how you treat me.”

Sherlock shrugged and just looked John in the eyes. “Sorry,” He said in a flat, insincere tone.

John shook his head. “No you’re not. Why would you be? You’ve got a back-up plan, don’t you? Your little psychopath on the side.” Great. He was bringing up Jim again. The conversations never got better after that.

“He’s not a side-piece, John, I don’t have any sort of romantic affiliation with him. I went to him because you wouldn’t calm down, nothing happened.” Sherlock said, snapping a little. “Perhaps if you were better at being a boyfriend you wouldn’t have to be so insecure about me talking to an old friend.”

John laughed a little. “Old friend? He tried to kill you! How friendly can he be? He tried to take you away from me, Sherlock. He did. Do you remember?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I didn’t force you to attempt suicide.” He said sharply. “Plenty of people have loved ones die and, guess what? They’re still here. You made that decision John. Stop holding it over my head as some kind of guilt trip. I’m done.” He said. John seemed taken back by that, but nonetheless he shook his head, a hurt expression on his face.

 “I can’t believe you just said that.” John murmured. Sherlock felt something stir inside of him. It was the familiar feeling of being in control of the conversation, something he’d lost long ago. “Well I did.” He said, not faltering a bit. He then looked down at John with a cold expression. “I’m going now. Wipe those bloody tears.”

Sherlock then walked out of the door, throwing his coat on as he left. John watched him walk down the stairs before going into their room.

The first thing Sherlock did was turn his phone off. He didn’t need John’s texts now. As for his brother, he’d watch him no matter what. He thought about where to go. He didn’t want to go to Jim’s. Instead, he went to go do some work.

* * *

 

He stood there in the morgue, the still silence washing over him. The morgue was closed at the moment, so after he turned on the light, he could see everything without any distractions. This is what he was missing. A place to think. A place for his thoughts to just bounce off of everything and deduce at his own will. He began to deduce these people and how they were. How they died and what their life was like.

For a long time, he just stood there. Eventually, he heard something off in the distance. He was getting prepared to explain himself as the footsteps got closer. Still, there was a familiar sound to them. There was a familiar rhythm with the steps, and he began to tap his fingers on his thigh, still not moving his gaze away from the bodies.

Jim walked in the room, silent as he stared intensely at Sherlock. He walked up and stood next to him, looking up at the man with interest. When Sherlock looked over, he just looked at Jim for a moment before going back to looking at the bodies. There was a mutual understanding between the both of him. They both were waiting for Sherlock to start making deductions. After a moment, Jim whispered to him, not taking his gaze off of them as well. “Tell me what you see.”

Sherlock walked up to the body immediately in front of them and deductions ran through his head. “He was a cobbler.” He said, looking back at Jim as if looking for him to urge him to continue.

Jim nodded. “Obviously. What else.”

“He had two, no, three lovers. One of which was a male that worked across the street from him at the tailor shop.”

Jim nodded. “Quite the hussy indeed.”

Sherlock looked closer and squinted. “He had an estranged relationship with his parents and his siblings never spoke to him. Probably because he was a drunk with a history of stealing from loved ones to get fast cash for booze.”

Jim watched Sherlock spew off the rest of his deductions. This is what the man needed. He needed to be challenged again. Jim then nodded over at the woman on the other table. “Her story.” He insisted, keeping calm as he stepped over to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at her and after a moment, he smiled. “She was clever… Not as clever as you and I, but definitely more so than her peers. From the looks of it, she’s 17. After years of intellectual isolation, she began using her intellect to manipulate her peers and pin people after one another. She had careless parents that encouraged her to embrace her looks, not her smarts.

“How did she die?” The other voice in the room chipped in, liking the pace Sherlock was going at.

“Drug overdose.. She was killed.” He looked up at Jim. “That’s not what this report says.”

Jim chuckled a little and tossed Sherlock a pen from the desk. “Fix it.”

Sherlock nodded and wrote on the paper.

_Homicide. SH_

When Sherlock looked back up to give the pen back, Jim was on the other side of the slab, looking at Sherlock with a serious expression. “Come live with me.” He said.

Sherlock paused for a moment and pursed his lips. He was about to say something, but nothing came out. He just stared at Jim for a moment before shaking his head. “Why?”

“Why?” Jim balked as if trying to understand what Sherlock was confused about. Still, his voice was calm, unlike what Sherlock was used to. “Because you know for a fact that things are going to get worse when you get back there, Sherlock.”

He did know that. Sherlock returned Jim’s gaze before nodding and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Alright.” He said. This made Jim smile brightly, his first genuine smile in a while. “Come along, Sherly. The driver’s outside.”


	11. Of course I'll stay, Sherlock.

As they lived together, Jim began to start doing little tests to see how Sherlock was coping mentally. He knew that Sherlock would never ask for help. Instead, he needed to keep the emotions at a distance and observe from afar.

One day, as breakfast was being prepared and Sherlock had walked into the kitchen, Jim slammed the fridge door shut, looking to see how Sherlock reacted to the sudden loud noise. He saw the other man tense up, trying to quickly cover it up by sipping at his tea. Alright. Still a bit jumpy.

Sherlock tried to get Jim’s attention off of that. “You know, for someone as wealthy and influential as you, you seem to be lacking any sort of staff or help around here.”

Jim chuckled a little. “That’s easy for you to say, Posh boy. Not everyone grew up with five butlers.”

Sherlock muttered “Four.” before taking another sip of his drink. This prompted a small smile from Jim as he put his hands up in the air. “Oh, so sorry. Well, you can probably see why having chefs and help around here would be… problematic.”

Sherlock nodded. “I suppose.”

“We do have a maid though. She’s paid enough.” He placed a plate in front of Sherlock containing a piece of toast and some eggs. “Eat. You haven’t eaten in two days. Yeah, I noticed.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked down. Jim sounded like John right there. He sipped at his cuppa, distracting himself. “Fine.” He took a bite of the toast, quickly eating. Okay, so he was hungry. “Thank you.” He said when he was done, standing and heading out. Jim cleared his throat. “Sherlock? Meet me in the library in thirty minutes.” He said simply, watching the other man leave.

* * *

 

In the library, Sherlock stood there looking at everything. Jim walked in with a slight smile on his face. “It’s a puzzle for you, Sherlock.” He said, going over to the table and sitting down. He observed Sherlock, waiting for him to see the first book he needed to look at. Sherlock looked at the book, deducing it and putting it back, going to the next book.

It was a simple puzzle really. He took all of the books that had been affected in the same fire and made ties to them through highlighted words. In the last book, the words “Tell me about the fire” would be highlighted.

Sherlock sauntered around the library a bit, finally gathering all of the books. He went to the other table in the library and began to set the books down in the way they were arranged in the fire due to the burn marks. He then looked at Jim for a moment before clearing his throat. “It was in an orphanage.” He said. “These are all children’s books, but they’re too ragged to be part of a residential home. They’re not old, so it’s not like they were passed down. Plus, the burn marks show that they were held in a tight-knit space, not as part of one display in a whole room as you would expect with a residential home.. It started…” He picked up one of the books and sniffed. “It started because of a cigarette left in a nearby trash can by one of the supervisors..”

Jim smiled. “Good, Sherlock. Good… You’re getting back up on your feet.” He said.

Sherlock actually felt proud at that. He nodded and began to put the books back. Jim spoke up. “I’ll be giving you puzzles such as this until I see you be as quick as you were before.” He said. He just wanted Sherlock to go back to the genius he used to be.

Sherlock nodded and after a moment of Jim not dropping his gaze, he squinted a little and pursed his lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked.

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Like what, exactly?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Like.. Nevermind.” He muttered, clearing his throat. “I’ll be in the study.” He said, leaving the room.

He began to think of everything. He wondered what John was doing at the moment. It had only been a few weeks, but he hadn’t heard from John or even gotten the usual spew of texts. Perhaps John really was done with him. He thought back to when he first met the man, before he had faked his death when John was action packed and fiercely loyal. Maybe he still was and Sherlock was just letting things get in the way. He was beginning to get lost in his head.

Jim watched on the camera, and as Sherlock seemed to zone out more and more, Jim decided he needed to do something. He got up and went over to the study.

He stood in the doorway for a bit, just watching Sherlock. Sherlock then looked up at him and cleared his throat. “I-” Jim shook his head. “No need.” He didn’t need Sherlock to explain himself or feel bad about what he was thinking. It was perfectly normal for him to be conflicted, and he’d be worried if Sherlock just blindly went with him without thinking for himself at all.

Jim kneeled over the side of the desk, facing Sherlock. “Unlike him, I want you to think for yourself. You can do whatever you want, but something tells me you don’t want to go back. Am I wrong?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No.. I just don’t understand.” He said, looking up at Jim. “He wasn’t always like that.”

Jim shook his head. “He was always capable of this, Sherlock. It only got revealed to an extreme when he got possessive about you after coming back. You’re looking back with nostalgia. It’s dishonest.” He took a leap and put one of his hands on Sherlock’s shoulder. “If you need me, I’ll be in my den.” He said. Sherlock looked at Jim and paused, biting the inside of his lip. “Stay,” He managed in a murmur.

Jim smiled. “Of course I’ll stay, Sherlock.” He got one of the chairs and sat there next to him, content with his company. Sherlock was his now.


	12. The directions are simple.

Sherlock was improving. Jim could see it. He could see how relaxed the detective was getting around him. He even began to notice miniscule affections being attempted. Nothing that Sherlock would admit to, of course, but affections nonetheless. Jim even noticed Sherlock getting more attached to him, and god he was not complaining.

Sherlock sat there next to Jim in the den, the crackling of the fire filling up the silence that fell between them. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though. It was quite comfortable. Jim looked over at Sherlock and cleared his throat. “Sherlock.” He began, waiting for him to return the gaze. “Have you heard from him at all?” He knew for a fact that Sherlock had. Not that he was spying through Sherlock’s phone. He just wanted to see if Sherlock would admit it. Sherlock just looked away and nodded. “Quite a bit in the beginning. Not so much now. Seems he’s given up. Not that he’d know where I was or how to get here in the first place. Seems he’s also got Mycroft involved, I’ve gotten a few texts from brother dear, but nothing of urgency. It’s not as though my disappearing is a new thing.”

Jim nodded, listening intently. He’d not heard anything from Mycroft, so he must not be too worried. “Sherlock, I-” He was cut off. Not by words or an exclamation, but by the detective coming forward and pressing their lips together. It took him by surprise, definitely, but he wasn’t complaining. When Sherlock pulled back, he looked at Jim with widened eyes and furrowed brows. Jim just sat there, waiting for Sherlock to respond. Sherlock shook his head and just sat back in his chair. “My apologies.” He breathed out.

This was when Jim decided to have a little fun. He gave a small side-smile and shook his head. “No, Sherlock. That was unacceptable. I demand you do it again to make up for it.”

Sherlock paused, thinking about it. If it was unacceptable, why would he want it again- oh. It was Jim giving encouragement to do it again. He moved forward and kissed him again. This time it was different. Jim was reciprocating, and that made him comfortable with the fact that he wasn’t going to get scolded for this. He pulled back and looked up at Jim, just sort of staring and waiting for him to start conversation.

Jim loved the way Sherlock looked right now. Sure, he looked nervous, but he didn’t seem scared. He didn’t seem to expect him to do anything hurtful. Whatever John did to him would obviously need a bit of work, but he seemed to be quite comfortable, and Jim wouldn’t have him any other way. He gave Sherlock a small smile and nodded his head towards the door. “Head off to bed. I’ve got some work to do before I go to sleep.” He watched Sherlock get up and leave before leaving the den and heading to his office.

 

The next morning, Sherlock arrived at breakfast right on time. Jim looked up as he saw the detective walk in and gave another cheeky smile. “Morning, Darling. Breakfast’s almost done.” It wasn’t as though Jim calling him Darling was in any way new, but this time it caused a little bit of pink to show up on Sherlock’s cheeks. He just took a seat and began to look at the paper.

Jim put a plate in front of him. It had eggs, toast, and bacon, fairly simple. “Cuppa?” He asked, getting the kettle out. Sherlock nodded, putting the paper down and beginning to eat. “Thank you,” He murmured.

Jim made the tea and sat down next to Sherlock with his own plate and both of their cups of tea. “Here.”

They ate their meal in peace, not really saying much. Still, it was a comfortable silence. When they were done, Sherlock retreated to the library where he liked to spend his alone time. Jim would be off getting some case ready but here. This was his domain. He would just sit on the sofa there and just close his eyes and start decluttering his mind palace. He’s gotten better and sharper. Instead of everything being thrown around and careless, things were in the right place. John didn’t enter his mind palace anymore. He seemed to be doing better. Jim walked in after a few hours, looking around the place. “You know, I still don’t understand why you come in here and don’t touch a single book.” He said, sitting next to Sherlock. Sherlock looked up at him and gave a small smile. “It’s just peaceful to me.” He murmured. Jim nodded. He could understand why. He leaned back and put his arm on the back of the couch, prompting Sherlock to come in and lay his head on his chest. Sherlock sighed as Jim began to play with his hair. This was what he’d been looking for. It was the subtle intimacy that he didn’t get before. Before didn’t matter now.

Jim saw Sherlock relax more and more, and he got more comfortable to put an arm around him instead of just on the back of the couch. He rubbed Sherlock’s hair and back and just soothed him. Sherlock eventually fell asleep, prompting a smile from Jim.

Jim looked down at his phone, twirling it in his hand a bit as he thought to himself. No, this needed to happen. He hurt Sherlock. He brought it up and began to text his men the orders.

_The address is already with you. The directions are simple. Go into the house and get rid of Dr. John Hamish Watson. JM_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone so much for taking the time to read this. I may or may not make a sequel. Thank you to the ones that have been with me a while and have put up with my procrastination and delays. It really means a lot to me. I might also take a break from this, if I do end up writing a sequel, and get out a couple of my other ideas first. Still, I hope you enjoy it all nonetheless. It's really been an experience. With love, Felicia.


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